Fetch
by Phil
Summary: A farmer tells a story to his young son to chase away the nightmares.


# Fetch

  


The house was quiet as he entered, indicating his wife had already retired to bed. Not surprising - he was a little later than usual tonight, having spent longer than expected fixing the fence over in the far field. The extra hour taken to repair the damage had thrown the rest of his day out of synch, leaving him half asleep when doing the final runs of the milking machine in the cow shed. 

But that wasn't a problem. Jake Rawlins was a farmer, and used to the long hard days the lifestyle often threw at him. In fact he was more than used to them - he positively enjoyed the hard work. The reward for the effort lay in the results it gave and the satisfaction of being his own boss. Besides, the family had owned this farm for generations. It was in the blood by now. 

Flicking his cap off he filled a glass full of water at the sink and moved over to the table. A brief smile crossed his face as he read the note left by his wife. 

'Thought you might be hungry', was scrawled on a piece of paper. She'd left him two large sandwiches, almost a whole chicken-full of fresh meat stuffed, with salad, between slices of bread over an inch thick. Just how he liked them. 

He wolfed down the sandwiches and got up to get some sleep. His eyes caught the clock on the way out - 11:14, a late night. Six hours time and he'd be up again. 

Walking along the darkened landing upstairs he couldn't resist stopping outside his son's bedroom door and taking a peek in. The door was slightly ajar, so he quietly pushed it open and put his head round. Over in the corner the blond-haired five-year old lay curled up in his blankets, illuminated by the soft glow of the night-light. Jake watched for a few moments, regretting that he hadn't spent much time with the boy recently. 

He was about to turn and leave when he heard a small noise coming from the bed. He stood and listened, and heard it again. An almost inaudiable whimper as the boy curled up tighter in the bedclothes, sleep disturbed by an unpleasant dream. 

Quitely shutting the door behind him Jake moved over to his son's bed and sat down on the edge. Leaning over he gently put his hand on the boy's shoulder and shook him awake, careful not to disturb him too quickly. The boy turned over, and seeing his father's large form beside him automatically crawled over, seeking the comforting feel of his fathers strong arms and soft flannel shirt against the terrors of the night. 

"What's up?" Jake asked, pulling his son further onto his lap. 

The boy just curled up tighter in his arms. 

"Bad dreams, huh?" 

Nod. 

"Wanna tell me what they were?" 

The blond hair moved slightly. "Can't remember," he said with a sniff. 

Jake gave a quiet chuckle. "Well that's probably a good thing." He looked down at his son. The kid clearly wasn't going to go to sleep just yet. "Tell you what, I'll tell you a story." 

"Which one?" The boy raised his head and looked up. 

Jake looked thoughtful for a moment. "A story my Dad told me once a long time ago, when I'd been having bad dreams." He looked into his son's eyes and grinned. "I was about your age when he told me this story, come to think of it." 

"What's it about?" The boy had stopped sniffling now, curiosity overcoming his fear from the dreams. 

"It's about a dog. And about the young boy who owned him." 

"Okay." The boy moved around, getting comfortable in his fathers arms. 

"A long long time ago," Jake began, leaning back against the wall to get comfortable. "There was a little boy who lived at this farm. And when he was about four or five he used to get bad dreams. And even though he was a very brave little boy, he still got scared by these bad dreams, and often woke up in the night feeling afraid. 

"Now his father was a very clever man who new exactly what to do to get rid of these bad dreams. So one day when the boy came back into the house after playing in the fields his father gave him a present. And do you know what that was?" 

"No. What?" 

"It was a dog. A large black sheepdog." 

"What's a sheepdog?" The boy asked. 

"A sheepdog is a kind of dog they have on farms where they keep sheep," Jake explained. "The farmers train them to help round up the sheep when they need to. They're always very scruffy-looking dogs, and they always love playing with children." 

"What's scruffy-looking mean?" 

"It's like how you look when you come in after playing in the fields all day." 

"Oh." 

"So the little boy's father says to him 'If you look after this dog, and play with him, then he'll sleep at the foot of your bed. And when the bad dreams come he'll get up and bark and chase them all away.' 

"Now the little boy really liked dogs, and they spent the rest of the day playing in the fields around the farm. The game they used to play the most was 'Fetch', where the little boy would throw something away and yell 'Fetch!' really loudly, and the dog would run after it and bring it back to him." 

"I've played that," the boy said, trying to stifle a yawn. 

"You have? Where was that?" 

"That time we went to Mister Edwards' house an' I played with Jimmy and their dog. We played 'Fetch' then." 

"At Mister Edwards' house? Well that's a sheepdog they've got over there." 

"Oh." 

"So anyway," Jake ruffled his son's hair. "If you keep asking questions you won't hear the rest of the story. Now shaddup and listen." The boy grinned at him. "So that night when he went to sleep, and every night afterwards the dog would sleep curled up at the foot of his bed. 

"Some nights later the little boy had another bad dream. In this dream he was being chased by a big ugly monster round the farm, and couldn't get away. And he remembered that the dog would chase the monster away, only he couldn't find the dog. 

"So he ran and ran and was getting really scared because the monster was getting closer and he still couldn't find his dog. And then he had an idea. He knew the dog really liked to play 'Fetch', and would always bring back anything he threw away if he yelled 'Fetch!' after it. So he quickly picked up a stick from the ground, threw it away from him and yelled 'Fetch!' as loudly as he could. 

"And straight away the dog came running up with the stick in its mouth. And when it saw the nasty monster it turned around and barked at it and chased it. And the monster was so scared of the dog it ran away. And from that night on whenever the little boy had a bad dream all he had to do was to pick up something and yell 'Fetch!', and the dog would come and chase the bad dream away." 

"But I can't do that," the boy protested. "I haven't got a dog sleeping at the end of my bed." 

"Always impatient, aren't you?" Jake smiled again. "That's yer mother coming out in you. You see, the story doesn't finish there." 

"Doesn't it?" 

"No. You see something happened several weeks later. The little boy was out playing one day with his dog as he had done every day for weeks. And because they'd been playing all round the farm they knew all the fields and the barns they could play in. Now the little boy got bored. He knew there were some barns he wasn't allowed to go in, but he really wanted to know what was in them and why he couldn't go in and play in them. 

"Now usually he was a good boy, and if his father told him not to go and play somewhere he wouldn't. But on this one day he was feeling really bored, and really wanted to go and play in one of the mysterious barns. So he took his dog and they both went out to one of the large barns in the field he wasn't allowed in. The little boy felt guilty as he approached the building, because he knew what he was doing was wrong. But he also felt excited because he would find out what was in the barns. So they went inside. 

"He looked around in the large barn and was a little disappointed, because the barn looked almost exactly like all the others he could play in, only a lot bigger. So the little boy and the sheepdog played 'Fetch' in there for a while, and then snuck back out and went and played at their favourite part of the farm by the stream." 

"I know that bit," said the boy. "That's the bit where the swing is, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, that's right. That's you're favourite part to play in, is it?" 

"Uh huh." 

"Mine too, when I was your age." Jake shifted slightly to get more comfortable, noticing the droopy look to his son's eyes. 

"Now after a day of playing the little boy was really tired, and went to bed nice and early. And that night he had a very strange dream, so strange that he wasn't really sure that it was a dream. He woke up in the middle of the night, when the moon was shining in his window, and saw someone standing at the end of the bed. At first he was frightened, but then when he looked at her he wasn't anymore. 

"She was a young woman, much older than him but younger-looking than his mother. Her hair was completely black, as were her clothes, and her skin looked completely white in the dim light of the moon. And she wore a strange-looking amulet around her neck." 

"Who was she?" the boy asked. 

Jake leaned his head back and scratched his beard. "Now that I don't know." 

"That's no good," his son said, sounding indignant. "You're supposed to know who everyone is in a story." 

"Not this one, son," he sighed. "When the little boy looked over to her, she saw him and smiled. And then he saw that his dog was standing up by her legs, as if ready to go for a walk with her. 

"'Who're you?' the little boy asked her. 

"'That doesn't matter,' she replied. 'This your dog, kiddo?' 

"'Yeah. Where are you going with him?' 

"'I'm sorry, kiddo, but I'm taking him away from you' She gave a sad smile. 

"'No', cried the little boy. 'You can't! I want him to stay here!' 

"'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'But it's too late. He ate something today that didn't do him any good, and... well I'm afraid it killed him.' 

"'No!' the little boy started crying. 'He's got to stay here!' 

"'Why?' she asked. 

"'Because he chases away all my bad dreams for me! I don't want him to leave!' 

"'She looked strangely at the little boy. 'Chases away all your bad dreams, eh?' She leaned over the end of the bed and smiled at him. 'Are you a good boy?' she asked. 

"'Yes', he said. 

"'Will you take good care of him and play with him?' 

"'Yes.' 

"'I'll see what I can do.' 

"And with that she disappeared, and the little boy fell instantly asleep. The next day when he woke up the little boy discovered that the dog was dead." 

"Dead?" Jake's son asked. "But she said she wouldn't kill him!" 

"I don't think she was there to actually kill him," Jake said thoughtfully. "And anyway, there's more to this story." His son yawned loudly in his lap and he grinned. "Not much more though, tiger." 

"That night when the little boy went to sleep he had another bad dream. This time it was a horrible lion chasing him across the fields, ready to eat him all up. And so he picked up a stick and threw it away from him, shouting 'Fetch' as loudly as he could for his dog to hear. But his dog didn't come and he remembered that the dog had died and the lady hadn't kept her promise. 

"The lion kept chasing him and soon he fell over. He looked up and over in the distance could see the lady with black hair. Beside her was a tall man dressed in something so black it looked like the night, with eyes that shone like two stars in the sky. The little boy was about to cry out to her when the man said something to her, and she looked over to him and winked. 

"Then, just as the lion was about to eat him, his sheepdog ran over and barked so loudly that the lion instantly ran away in fear. The little boy was really happy to see the dog again, and he looked up for the woman to say thank you, but she was gone. 

"And for the rest of the night, in his dreams, the little boy played with the dog. And from then on every time he had a bad dream, all he had to do was throw something and yell 'Fetch', and the dog would come and chase away the monsters. 

"And do you know what my father told me then?" 

"What?" the boy asked sleepily. 

"He told me that every time I had a bad dream, all I had to do was throw something and yell 'Fetch!', and the sheepdog would come and chase away my bad dream for me. And I reckon that the sheepdog would like you, and would chase away your bad dreams if you called him. Will you try that, next time you have a bad dream?" 

"Uh huh," the boy mumbled, curled up in Jake's flannel shirt. 

Jake looked down at his son, whose eyes had drooped shut. He moved the boy over onto the bed and tucked him in. With a last whispered 'Sweet Dreams', he moved off to bed. ________________________________________________________________________________________ 

_Jake Rawlins dreams. He dreams of fields and machinery, of milk and money. He dreams of the weather, of the hot sun and the cold rain. Tonight he dreams of open fields, flowing thick with grass for the cows. He dreams of sun and rain, of bales of hay and hard work in the midday heat. He dreams of his wife, and he dreams of his father. And he dreams of his son, playing catch with an old black sheepdog in the fields by the farm..._ ________________________________________________________________________________________ 


End file.
